Inothar Lightflayer
Inothar Lightflayer, formerly Inothar Spellflayer, is a high elven death knight, serving the Alliance. Appearance Inothar has ice blue hair, bound into a ponytail with some of it going down his neck and around it. He has a longer soulpatch, forking down. He has two ice blue and glowing eyes, flaring outward in a small magical fire. His skin is pale-white, his build muscular yet slim and slightly rotten. He often smells freshly washed, preserving his body from too much rot in order to keep himself from falling apart. His face is always as calm as stone, he tends to ignore arguments and everyone taunting him. Personality Also a cold and ruthless man, he tends to stay neutral in environments needed. He follows orders without question, and will often not bother to speak to anybody; unless they had spoken first. Inothar is a noble and diplomatic person, almost as much in undeath as he was in life. Knowing he is a threat to living beings, and very distasteful due to rot and whatnot, he tends to stay in encampments for only short times. He never seems to be angry, nor happy, but rather always neutral and careless. He can solve problems diplomatically, but he is able to switch into a ruthless and relentless persona almost instantly. He has coped with his undeath and knowingly keeps others from his presence if needed. Liking, Tolerance The elf barely tolerates anyone but his own race, and often seeks to protect them more than others. He rarely likes the smell of nature around himself, preferring the rotten stench of corpses, or something else than that. Once adoring a woman named Thalassa, he often accepts the presence of this smell, the odor being described as lilies mixed with vanilla. Intolerance, Hatred Inothar clearly finds minor disgust in orcs and trolls. He tends to avoid paladins and priests, their presence making his skin crawl. He despises these practitioners of the light to a more full extent than trolls or orcs. He is deeply striving for 'order and perfection' in his cruel and wicked sense, and dislikes most races but his elven comrades. He seeks to "purify" Silvermoon from his blood elven cousins, including everyone he once loved and cared for. The Past In the blooming city of Silvermoon, the high-elven boy named Inothar was born, in a family of spellbreakers. These called themselves the Spellflayers, dating back to the founding of Silvermoon as experienced arcanists to the now successful spellbreakers. As the boy aged to a young, childlike age, he found his possibly best friend; Thalassa Frostleaf. She belonged to a fellow noble house. Both became friends for a long time, continuing to their teen age where Inothar learned a few new things. Teenage The now older Inothar was starting to learn how to fight with a blade, using his inherent arcane abilities to enhance his abilities slightly, hardly with any avail. The boy grew to the age of 24. The slightly older teenager passed in his blade acts quickly, soon finding himself with his childhood friend again, her developing to grow a head smaller than him, a small bust formed with her hair loose. The woven golden hair smelled with lilies and vanilla, as the rest of her did. As if bound by a spell, he thought she was unusual from the rest – better than the rest. Adulthood The now adult man soon faces the second war, fighting with his brethren as a novice swordsman. His general was a kind man, but rather not good for talking to – The elf looked about in the battlefield, noticing that a troll at the near end of the barrier was about to finish off a comrade. He dashes to the troll and slashes his sword vertically across the neck, the enchanted blade sliding through easily. Now, at the end of the great war, with lots of bloodbathing, loss of people, he ascended through his arcane training to become a spellbreaker, donning the robes and armament with pride. The Third War Time became grave as he heard the thundering roars of the undead. The rangers guarded and fought the first gate, the inner gate guarded by the spellbreakers, including Inothar. As they burst in, all start to unsheathe their glaives and slash at the beasts, fighting them back as Arthas personally rode to the front, charging forward a set of abominations. Arcanists at the towers fired their arcane bolts, bursting the abominations apart as the Death Knight fired into them, with wicked coils of dark magic. He cackled, slashing down the once powerful spellbreakers for eternity… Or not? Undeath After the spellbreaker was defeated, he was intended to be put into the corpsewagons, but stopped by the Death Knight. „He can prove useful, I sense a magical aura inside him.“ He channels dark magic through his sword to raise him as an undead servant, and sends him to be trained by his new masters. He is equipped with coat and chestplate, and a runeblade that contained his soul. Inothar was first stunned at the new powers and trained them vigoriously, making sure to extend them to every possible end he can imagine. Blackrock & Roll, Again! Inothar, the now trained knight of undeath was sent with Arthas and Kel’thuzad, and another handful of undead soldiers to attack a big camp of Blackrock orcs, these sent to summon demons to Azeroth. After hitting on it, Arthas orders the knight to take a handful of ghouls, acolytes and necromancers to flank them. Said, done! He flanks them around the right side while Kel’thuzad and Arthas pose as the main force, killing the orcs after a long battle. Kel’thuzad nears the gate of summoning and summons the eredar lord, Archimonde: “I call upon thee, Archimonde...” The conversation takes a short time, Inothar and the rest are sent back to their camp, where he trains more. The Siege of Dalaran Instead of personally being in the siege, he was tasked to attack the places around, killing the camps of people and bandits, as well as stumbling upon Tarren Mill, which he left unharmed. He continued his stance with little to no effort needed. Under the Burning Sky Inothar was this time within the city, helping Arthas and the undead army to guard the lich in summoning the great demonic lord. He charged forth on his undead steed with a task force of acolytes, a meat wagon and an abomination, intending to destroy one of the camps. After hitting on it, he notices it is fortified. He tasks the acolyte to gather more, starting to summon a Ziggurat while he continues. After a given time, the Ziggurat is summoned, the ground is blighted. Inothar summons more forces for the sky from a graveyard at the outpost to start an assault on the camp, destroying it and the inhabitants. The knight gathered all souls available, and then finished off the archmage inside after he was cornered with attackers – A clean stab into his head. Inothar continued riding to the next camp, Arthas catching up as both attack the camp together, side-by-side, killing the inhabitants with the shocktroopers of undeath, raising the corpses as mindless servants. Both ride back as they see Archimonde being summoned… Freedom of the Scourge? Inothar was holding his position in Northrend, fighting the locals for the soul-harvest to continue, by that also bolstering the forces of the Scourge. He continued so for the next few years, waiting for the forced command of his master. The Awakening Years pass. Inothar was dazed for a few seconds after slicing open a Vrykul's body, ending up to incapacitate and then kill him. The high elf hovered the tip of the blade upon the heart area, siphoning the soul and life power before he fell to his knees, hearing the forceful command to move to the Plaguelands. As he arrived there weeks later, and fought in the Plaguewood for the next days, he arrived at the mighty Ebon Hold, waiting for his command. The End Inothar was sent out into the battlefield to destroy the final soldiers left. Along with his old companions, Larion and Ingvar, he was able to sabotage most of the Ballistae, allowing the wyrmriders to fight easier while the ground forces incapacitated some of the soldiers. Then, riding on a newly given horse, he was sent to Light's Hope chapel. „This aura... It unnerves me, my lord,“ Inothar mutters to Darion. He simply grumbles and tells him to hold for a few moments before the rest of the battalion of Death Knights arrives. In battle, he was incapacitated twice, but saved by a horde of ghouls and his runeblade. Facing death almost the third time, he stood up and was instantly gasping for air, pulled back. He soon blacked out due to his powers waning, waking up in a retaken Acherus. A death knight explained the situation. He stood up and walked away, silent. Let the Demons Out A decade passed since Inothar was raised. The agony was unbearable, and every time it returned, he moved out into the wilds to wreak havoc upon an innocent being. Inothar knew this couldn’t go on. He knew that one day; the World will run out of living victims. The elf raised his sword. A black, inky mist slowly amassed around the ground in front of him, gaining a disgustingly pungent stench and a wicked, slimy substance. Mist protruded from it slowly, as a being rose from it, arching up and screeching; a Deathcharger. He set his plated foot onto the stirrup and pushed himself onto the saddle, then took the reins and whipped them. It took him a few weeks until he finally arrived at Acherus. That empty, big necropolis was still looming over that one area. Inothar scoffed. “Back home, hmf.” The elf pushed himself off the steed, which charged into the distance, sinking into an inky, black mist. Inothar made his way through Death’s Breach slowly. Ghouls carefully salvaged the boney posts and geists gathered the ripped apart cloth covers. A few undead were taking apart the camp one by one, probably to salvage the items that are useful. He stepped onto the teleporter; a sudden whisper, in a black, wicked language came into his ear. “Uzgar alâkur ash nag?” The elven knight craned his neck, sneering as he murmured out in the same language: “Uzgar durbatûk thrakar.” The teleporter started to glow wildly in a vibrant, green color as the elf was teleported to the lower section of the great Necropolis. The elf slowly strode past the rows of books, shelves and lights. Lowering his head, he hissed once again, and then noticed a strange book. It wasn’t bound, but the wooden cover had something etched into itself: “Get Rid of Your Demons,” it read. Inothar picked the book up, curious in his movement. He opened the book and read. The book was a guide. A guide to remove one’s binding to that terrible, terrible curse. The steps were short, but elaborate. Inothar read out loudly, but in a low voice. The Death Knight took the small book along and gathered a Necromancer’s spellbook, then rode off to a Scourge camp close to the Noxious Glade. Various cultists gazed at him with distrust, but tried to avoid it. The knight struck them down and cut their hearts out with a short skinning dagger, then moved on to get inking tools from one of the Ziggurats; an inkwell and a few embalming tools shaped correctly. The knight rode off to a cave close to Terrordale and hid deep inside, then put two of the three hearts down. He took forward the book and inking tools and set them down close by. He then started to ink the odd scriptures into one of the three hearts, and then began the ritual. After blessing the heart with three runes – One of each kind, specifically – he began to speak some odd words in the dark language of Death: “Th—Thûra zogranûluk thrakâ.” Mists built up close to Inothar as a barely visible shade slowly rose, bowing down. “Your bidding, my lord,” it hissed out in an echoing tone, this one suddenly turning into a shriek as the knight mercilessly tore the essence of the shade apart. He set the hearts into a triangle and put the shard in the middle, closing his glowing eyes and channeling low words. Runes on his sword, armor and body started to glow vibrantly as they were used up, creating a black, green and red glowing orb in his hands, which slowly spread as a black, pungent mist around the hearts, these starting to pulsate violently. The hearts suddenly emitted a beam, starting to pull away Inothar’s soul in a slow, painful manner. The man instantly yelled out a croaked and pained sentence: “Dûrak al zâga!” The hearts busted violently and the spell stopped as the knight was surrounded by a white mist that rolled down upon him. He was located in a black citadel. Various guards, possibly black-armored death knights stood in a hall-row against the walkway, leading up to a great throne of a humongous, black being in a set of threatening armor, idly sitting and tapping a spiked finger against its throne. Various black shadows amassed around the being, creating shades. These consecutively chanted words in the language of Death: “Zumag! Al Thrukka! Zumag! Al Zâgar! Zumag! Al! Brudaz! Burzak! Hal! Izhi!” The shades intensified their chant. It was tempting; tempting to kill this gigantic being. It stood up, easily topping roughly 40 feet as it extended its arm to the right, slowly conjuring a great mace. He raised the mace and fired it down towards the knight, who appeared as a living, healthy elven ranger. The man dashed to the side, pulling for his sword. To his confusion, he pulled forward a shortbow. He pulled forward a full-steel arrow, engraved with an odd elven inscription. As he pulled back the arrow, it started to glow in a bright blue-white color. As he shot it forward and hit the armor, it penetrated the plated sheet, causing the being to roar in agony and anger. It went to send its foot for Inothar, who rushed past the being, gasping for air as he pulled another arrow forward, firing it for an exposed, great mesh of chainmail, hitting and causing the being to roar again. Its wounds glowed in a red manner as they slowly grew shut. It let out a menacing laugh as it turned around, roaring as it sent the mace to slam onto Inothar again. He pulled out three arrows and fired them for the being’s helmet, these going past the great gaps in it. The being suddenly arched back, dropping the mace and roaring in pain as it held itself by the helmet, pulling it off. Underneath was a scarred, burned face of an elf. Parts of his lips were missing, some teeth knocked out and one eye blind. It gazed at Inothar, roaring out as it desperately dashed for the mace, grabbing it and sending a swipe for the young elf. Inothar quickly ran aside and looked up. The being roared out and sent it down into him; Inothar pulled forward his scimitar and dodged the slam, quickly managing to climb up onto the mace as it raised the weapon to see if it hit. Inothar, in the meantime, quickly started to climb on against the being, slowly going to the neck. It noticed the sense of touch and went to grab him, but started to scream as Inothar buried his scimitar into the neck. It raised its arms and started pulling Inothar away, throwing him onto the ground. Inothar groaned in pain, slowly and carefully pulling out a soul shard with his still healthy arm. He started crawling away as the being looked for its mace, slowly aiming to siphon the shades’ essence into the shard from before. The shades let out a pungent smell, but eventually were siphoned, causing them to scream loudly. The being turned, roaring in pain as it slowly shrank from the shades vanishing. Inothar slowly grew in power, standing up from the ground and nocking an arrow, growling at the now ~7 foot tall being. It roared out to charge into Inothar, who fired a barrage of arrows, each hitting the being and causing it to fall back. Inothar grabbed the one-handed mace and raised it. “Zuma gâr lubrak,” he said, squashing the being’s head. The ground suddenly churned. He looked around; the citadel was empty. He felt a sudden strike of pain as he woke up from a paralysis in the cave. The soul shard fractured somehow, it seems. There were no whispers in his head. Inothar felt free at last. Friends and Family Inothar had many friends along with his parents. These are the most important. Friends Thalassa Darksong Thalassa was one of Inothar's dearest friends. She stood about half a head smaller than him, had golden woven hair, held together with a single hairband and often worse a blue, gray-black or white robe. Her azure-blue eyes often warmed the heart of the young elf before his demise, ultimately reminding him of her whenever he sees them. Years after both of them met, a relationship soon started to form with the two. It held through with minor problems over the hundreds of years, and persisted throughout both the first and second war. As the news of the third war had reached Silvermoon City, both of them were struck with worry and fear of the future. Inothar's father was sent out to duty at the first gate, and Inothar at the second. Thalassa herself had learned the arts of arcane magic in that time, and guarded the mage towers set up high. After the death of Inothar, she herself was struck with heavy depression and tried anything to regain her soulmate, with any means necessary. She followed the campaign of blood elves and was corrupted with the fel essence, ending up to turn into a wicked witch. Her hair bleached white, and her attire black like a murder of crows. She turned to learn the arts of necromancy two years after she gained the fel essence, and affiliated herself with the Forsaken partially. Category:High Elf Category:Death Knight Category:Noble Category:Alliance Category:Back story